


I'm happy at home (You're my best friend)

by lucky_spike



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, Phone Calls & Telephones, Short & Sweet, aziraphale's stress baking killed me, lockdown follow-up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23947303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucky_spike/pseuds/lucky_spike
Summary: I loved the little lockdown video we got as a lovely lovely gift for GO's 30th, but I had to add a little something. ;)-Aziraphale lasts, after their phone call, an entire 30 days. He is surprised - well, surprised and offended, if he’s honest - that Crowley doesn’t contact him before then. But, well, Crowley had said he was going to sleep, hadn’t he? And he was probably tired, although from what Aziraphale can’t possibly imagine; they had both been taking it easy since Nahmageddon, and as far as he knows Crowley hasn’t stretched his power much recently.No matter. Aziraphale calls him.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 119
Collections: Good Omens Lockdown fics





	I'm happy at home (You're my best friend)

Aziraphale lasts, after their phone call, an entire 30 days. He is surprised - well, surprised and offended, if he’s honest - that Crowley doesn’t contact him before then. But, well, Crowley had  _ said _ he was going to sleep, hadn’t he? And he was probably tired, although from what Aziraphale can’t possibly imagine; they had both been taking it easy since Nahmageddon, and as far as he knows Crowley hasn’t stretched his power much recently.

No matter. Aziraphale calls him.

Crowley answers on the third ring. “Wharflsdf?”

He does not roll his eyes, but he does glare strongly at the bowl of strawberry shortcake in front of him. Nevertheless, when he speaks he finds he is unable to keep the warmth and joy out of his voice. “Ah, Crowley.”

There is a sleepy intake of breath on the other end of the line, followed by a gravelly, “Angel! Hi. S’it July?”

“It is not. It’s -” he checks the calendar by the desk, which is from 1978, “- May 31st.”

Crowley groans. “Thought I said wake me up in July.”

“No,” Aziraphale sighs, a little testy. “No, you said you were going to set an  _ alarm  _ for July. You didn’t say anything about when I was to wake you up.”

“Oh. Right.” Through the line, he can hear rustling, as if Crowley is rolling around in bed. He probably is. There also is another sound, and it takes Aziraphale a minute to realize it’s flapping - ah, right, why not have his wings out? All the humans are inside, no sense in hiding them. Well, for Crowley, anyway. Aziraphale had decided against it shortly after accidentally coating his first few primaries in blueberry compote and the subsequent night spent grooming it back out. “So what’s up?”

“I’m bored.”

The pause on the other end of the line lasts a second, and then Crowley laughs. “ _ Finally _ . Figured you’d get there eventually.”

“Yes. Well. I have.” He finds himself toying with the phone cord, wrapping it around his finger, and drops it. As if he were some infatuated teenager, he thinks, and then tries to ignore the way a little voice near the back of his mind says ‘ _ you sort of are, old boy _ ’. “And … and I was thinking, since neither of us can  _ actually _ get ill, well -”

“Ah.” There is no hiding the amusement in Crowley’s voice, although Aziraphale suspects the demon hadn’t tried very hard. “Aha. I see. Not so worried about me breaking the rules, eh? You know, I do have a case of very nice wine from Spain, I think around the 50’s -”

“Yes, yes.” He remembers their last conversation as he says, “Tip-top. I shan’t object if you were to - as you said -  _ slither on over _ . Anyway, I’ve nearly got this Baumkuchen recipe figured out, but it’s quite tedious, and a little company wouldn’t -”

“Be there in ten.” The line goes dead. Aziraphale looks at the receiver in his hand, just for a second, before a wide smile spreads over his face, and quite in spite of himself, he starts to glow. He sets the handset down in its cradle with a click, straightens his waistcoat, and turns away from the phone, heading back toward the little kitchenette in the shop where he’s spent so much time over the past months. He ought to put some coffee on: Crowley prefers coffee. He hums as he goes, a familiar tune that he can’t quite recall the name of, though he can remember a few lyrics, and knows he’s heard it in the Bentley before.

_ You’re the first one _

_ When things turn out bad _

_ You know I’ll never be lonely _ ...


End file.
